


Snowflakes In Your Eyelashes

by who_la_hoop



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas!fic, Established Relationship, M/M, bad language, fluff fluff fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-24
Updated: 2007-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 11:00:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/who_la_hoop/pseuds/who_la_hoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the night before Christmas. Draco's stressed and Harry's bewildered – but what are they both so nervous about?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowflakes In Your Eyelashes

Draco narrowed his eyes as he glared at Harry, a sneer curling his lip upwards. “If you think it looks good_ there_, then you’re more of an idiot than I thought.”

Harry shoved his wand back into his pocket and glared back. “Well where do you want it to go? We’ve tried everywhere else. I don’t see what was wrong with the first place we put it. Which, incidentally, is where it’s standing now, despite several hours of levitating the damn thing about.”

They both turned to scowl at the large sofa, which wisely stayed silent.

“Why are you so stressed out?” Harry asked, and tried not to flinch when Draco directed his finely honed Malfoy stare of disapproval and condescension in his direction. _I am better than you_, the look seemed to say. _Compared to me you are a dribble of primordial slime, to which I shall shortly be adding a dash of thick bleach_. “It’s just a sofa, Draco. If it’s not in the right place, we can move it tomorrow. Or the day after. Or the day after that. Or even—“

A strange expression flickered over Draco’s sharp features, but changed quickly into obvious irritation before Harry could work out what it was. “Well, if you want to live in a messy hovel then that’s fine by me, but I’m not joining you.”

Harry felt himself flush with anger, and then sighed, tugging Draco down onto the couch beside him. Draco was stiff beside him at first, and then he relaxed, tucking his feet under him and leaning languidly against Harry.

Harry pressed a kiss against Draco’s hair, and smiled wryly. Sometimes he just didn’t _get_ Draco. Who cared about the sodding sofa? Surely the important thing was that they were, after 10 months that had been an odd combination of bizarre, exciting, emotionally painful and delightful, moving in together into their own home?

Harry knew from experience that he wasn’t always particularly quick on the uptake when it came to how other people were feeling – especially people who were quite as uptight and _infuriating_ as Draco could be at times. When he, Harry, had a problem he tended to fume and shout about it. When Draco had a problem he turned icy and supercilious, and it took unbelievable effort to get him to spill.

But then Draco could be supremely surprising at times. Thoughtful, even though he went to ridiculous extremes to cover it up. Affectionate – albeit mostly when he thought that Harry was asleep, stroking his hair softly and winding him in his arms. And although he couldn’t really be described as anything other than self-interested, he had – Harry soon discovered – a rather wider definition of “self-interest” than Harry had previously suspected. As soon as he found out quite how distressing Harry found the constant news articles about him – they stopped. When he asked Draco about it, Draco merely raised an eyebrow and said _well, you didn’t like it, birdbrain_. But later, when he’d taken a few too many glasses of Firewhiskey, he’d looked down into his glass with a serious, almost fierce expression and said _you’re mine, Potter, and don’t you forget it_. And when he raised his face to meet Harry’s eyes, Harry had thought – rather dazed – _yes. This is someone I could love forever._

This interesting personal revelation didn’t, however, stop Draco from being a right pain most of the time. Like now. In fact, Harry thought crossly, _especially_ now, when he had a present for the irritating sod which was burning a hole in his pocket and occupying far too much of his attention. Christmas eve probably wasn’t the best day for moving furniture around, now he came to think about it.

“Stop sighing, Potter,” Draco snapped. “Have you any idea how irritating—“

It was the work of a moment to shut him up with a hard kiss, and press him back against the plump cushions until his face was pleasantly flushed and his breathing rather quicker.

Harry pulled back slightly. “Better?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “The sofa still isn’t—“

Harry shut him up again, this time rather more thoroughly.

“You can’t win everything by doing that,” Draco said some time later, but his voice was sated and sleepy, and he leaned up against Harry in a way that, for anyone except a Malfoy, could be described as snuggling.

Harry grinned. “I can try. Better?”

“Marginally,” Draco said and laughed when Harry whacked him. “Watch it you,” he said pompously, a smile hovering on his lips. “The Malfoy person is very delicate, I’ll have you know.”

Harry laughed and tickled the Malfoy person until he was almost crying with laughter, and begging Harry to stop. Harry tugged Draco into a tight hug, which was returned with some force. When he pulled back, Draco’s expression was tight and nervous, all traces of humour fallen away.

“There _is_ something wrong,” Harry said, feeling his insides plummet.

Draco pulled a face. “Sort of,” he offered reluctantly. “It’s just—” he looked uneasy. “Oh hell,” he said. “Just come with me.” His expression tightened into something more formal and guarded, and he got up quickly, holding himself very tall and straight.

Harry followed feeling slightly sick. Was Draco going to… He _wouldn’t_, Harry tried to think firmly. Not over _Christmas_. He was a little sod, but he wasn’t that cruel. Was he? Engrossed in his thoughts he nearly fell over Draco when he finally left the room to follow his boyfriend. Draco – surprisingly – didn’t snap at him, or come back with a snide remark. Instead, he looked at Harry with a strained expression and took his hand, pulling him gently into a room they’d designated as a spare bedroom. It was unfurnished and bare, but propped up against the wall was—

Harry gasped and nearly tripped over his own feet. Only Draco’s firm grip on his arm kept him upright.

“Harry?” a voice said tentatively. “Oh my god, is that really you?”

Harry swallowed hard and when he spoke, the words sounded thick and somehow distant. “Mum? Dad?”

There was a confused tangle of voices from the enormous oil portrait, as everyone tried to speak at once.

“Oi, you haven’t forgotten about us, lad, surely?” Remus yelled with a grin, and Sirius punched his arm and smiled so hard at Harry that it almost looked painful.

Harry wet his lips and tried to speak, but he couldn’t. He took a tentative step forwards. “I—” he managed. “I thought—”

“That we had to be alive to have our magical portraits done?” Sirius asked.

Harry nodded.

Sirius shrugged, and Harry noticed that while his parents both looked unbelievably young, Sirius and Lupin were as he remembered them – both lined and appearing older than their years.

“So did we, but here we are,” Sirius replied with a grin, and then shot a suspicious look at Draco. “Although we weren’t sure at first if we’d be spending the rest of eternity in Malfoy stinking Manor. What in Merlin’s name is _that_ little sot doing with you, Harry?”

“Oh hush, Sirius,” Lily said, pushing him back and pressing a hand longingly against the canvas. “It’s so wonderful to see you, Harry dearest. So very wonderful.”

Harry forgot the harsh reply to Sirius that was on his lips and smiled, his eyes filling with tears. “I miss you so much, Mum. All of you.”

His mother smiled softly. “As we missed you. But now at least we have this.” Her smile turned brilliant. “Your friend was dear enough to give us this.”

Sirius snorted, and James whacked him. “He must be very different from that tit Lucius, Merlin rot him,” James said with a grin at Harry. “No son of mine would hang out with anyone so toffee-nosed and awful.”

“He’s—” Harry began, and then stopped, as a cold feeling suddenly gripped him. He looked around, but Draco was no longer there. He’d walked out – and when, Harry didn’t know. He shot a panicked look at his mother. “I love him,” he whispered to her.

Lily rolled her eyes and smiled down at him. “Then go after him,” she said firmly. “Never mind these idiots. I’ll sort them out for you. We’ll be here when you get back.”

James looked slightly dumbfounded, but he shook his head with a wry grin. “Yeah, you can’t get rid of us that easily, son.”

Harry smiled faintly, and dashed out of the room in search of Draco. He found him in the living room, looking out of the window into the darkness outside. Harry paused in the doorway, suddenly feeling nervous. His heart was pounding strangely. He wet his lips and opened his mouth to say something, and then stopped.

“Do stop loitering in the doorway, Potter,” Draco said icily, not turning around. “Is my gift… acceptable?” His tone was cold and flat, and Harry frowned, completely confused.

He crossed the room and pulled Draco around to face him. Draco’s cheeks were flushed but his face was calm. Harry knew from experience, however, that this meant nothing. He thought that Draco could probably look calm and disdainful even if someone were sawing his legs off.

“Thank you,” he said, trying to express the inexpressible in a few simple words. “Thank you so much. It’s… Unbelievable. Wonderful. You’re unbelievable. I can’t believe you did this for me. Thank you.”

The blush spread down Draco’s neck in a charming manner, and his expression softened infinitesimally. “It’s not… too much?” he said stiffly.

Harry drew Draco into an achingly tight embrace. “It’s the best present anyone’s ever given me,” he mumbled into Draco’s hair. “I love you so much.”

Draco snorted and then laughed softly. “That sofa _isn’t_ in the right place,” he said. “I was going to hang the portrait opposite it, but—”

“But what?” Harry said, drawing back slightly.

Draco looked uncomfortable. “Well, I don’t really wish to be insulted in my own home constantly,” he said, his tone bitter. “In case you didn’t notice, your happy family aren’t exactly welcoming towards me. Black has been nothing but unpleasant since—” He scowled and wrinkled up his nose. “Which is not really the point. As long as you like it, Potter. I went to some considerable expense and effort to have it made.” His expression turned slightly smug.

“We’ll hang it there,” Harry said decisively. “And if they’re rude, we’ll turn them towards the wall. Mum’ll soon sort Sirius out.” He gave Draco a squeeze, and then noticed something. “Look!” he said with some excitement. “It’s snowing!”

Draco turned to look, and smiled slightly superciliously. “You’re such a child, Potter. It’s just weather.”

Harry rolled his eyes, and tugged Draco out of the room.

“Where are you taking me, Scarhead?” Draco drawled, allowing himself to be dragged along without too much resistance.

“Outside, Ferret boy,” Harry replied, wrapping a scarf around Draco’s throat and pushing him out of the front door before he had a chance to complain.

Once outside he did, of course, take that chance. “It’s _freezing_, Potter. If this is supposed to demonstrate the joys of snow, then your attempt has failed.” Then, a snowball hit Draco on the side of the head. When he opened his mouth to yell, he found himself eating snow.

“POTTER!” Draco yelled, spitting out the frozen mush and gathering up a handful of snow to retaliate. His fingers stung with cold but, to his evident satisfaction, he hit his target full on the chest.

Harry laughed and threw more snow back.

“Missed!” Draco shouted with a smug smile, and threw a wet handful of slush at the side of Harry’s head. It stuck, and slid down Harry’s head and landed on his shoulder, soaking through his sweater.

Harry laughed, and ran his fingers through his hair, sure that it was sticking out at even worse angles than usual. Draco was laughing now – laughing _at_ him to be sure, but laughing all the same. Harry felt a pang of unbelievable tenderness tug at his heart as he looked at his boyfriend, pink-cheeked from laughter and exercise, his white-blond hair dishevelled and his clothing damp and snow-covered.

He felt in his pocket for the gift that he had for Draco. The one he hadn’t been entirely sure whether to give to him. And came to a decision. He could – and would – do this. He swallowed hard.

“Catch!” he yelled, tossing the gift to Draco, who caught it easily with his Quidditch-honed reflexes.

Draco frowned down at the small box in his hands, and looked up at Harry.

“Um,” Harry said, his heart pounding in his chest. It was suddenly a bit hard to breathe.

Draco opened the box, and his face went quite blank. “What is this?” he all but whispered.

“Um,” Harry said, moving a bit closer. “Will you – you know?”

Draco looked at him. “No I do not know, Potter,” he said a little tersely.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. He’d thought up a speech, but every single rehearsed word had spontaneously vanished from his head. He groped for words and then laughed nervously. “I’d like to, you know, spend the rest of my life with you,” he managed to say, his face flaming. “If that’s alright. You don’t have to answer now,” he added hastily.

Draco took the ring out of the box and examined it, his expression still guarded. “Where did you buy this?”

“Oh,” Harry said. “I didn’t. I mean, I did buy it, of course, but not from a shop. I had it made. You know, commissioned.” He felt himself blush. “I designed it. I thought you’d like it.”

Draco said nothing.

“You don’t like it,” Harry said flatly. “I shouldn’t have asked you. It’s too soon. Oh hell, I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I?”

Draco said nothing, but slid the ring onto the fourth finger of his left hand and looked at it calmly. “Yes,” he said.

“Yes, what?” Harry said, panicking.

Draco rolled his eyes and looked disdainful, but the colour in his cheeks was almost brick red, despite the cold. “Yes, Harry, I will marry you. Despite your unorthodox and frankly haphazard approach to a proposal.”

Harry blinked. Draco _never_ called him Harry. Not even when they were in bed. “Oh,” he said, a huge grin spreading across his face. “That’s brilliant.” He took a step forward, and pulled Draco towards him.

Draco looked down at him, and Harry noticed that there were snowflakes in his eyelashes. “On one condition,” Draco added.

“What?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“We honeymoon somewhere entirely without snow,” Draco said superciliously, and smirked against Harry’s mouth as Harry pulled him into a bruising kiss.

But soon it was time for Harry to smirk, as Draco’s breathing hitched and he pressed his slender body up against Harry’s own.

“Happy almost-Christmas, Draco,” he said as he pulled Draco back into the warmth, and they fell in a tangle of limbs and soft kisses onto their new bed.

“You’re still moving that sofa,” Draco said, and then laughed breathlessly as Harry rolled on top of him and pinned him to the bed. His lips quirked into a smile. “Happy almost-Christmas, Scarhead. Happy almost-Christmas indeed.”

 


End file.
